Through Violent Daylights
by Leara Bribage
Summary: Bellamy merely breathed and watched how her fair tresses parted like waves in that moment.


If it were up to him, he would just have floated himself into space _long_ before any of this shit storm happened to the 100 teenagers who were exiled back to Earth. At least, before he died, the last thing he would've seen was the stars. He would've reveled in its ethereal oblivion. It was the death of these heavenly bodies that he was born from, and to them he will return once more. Bellamy was sure that they would at least welcome him with open arms and guide his suspended body as it swam across the universe. It will be enough for him, after everything he's endured.

But that's hypocritical, selfish, and infantile of him, especially when he had a lot of things done with the people who has managed to make himself comfortable enough with to call _friends_. Family, even, but that's beside the point. He's got a lot to protect, and many who has his back, as well. So, really, he shouldn't even be complaining that much since he has the Princess, O, Raven, Monty, Murphy, Jasper, and the others.

There's a problem, though, and it has everything to do with him questioning his life decisions—since when did his make ethical sense, anyway?—now that he saw hi-well, their Princess looking blankly across the camp from the forest after the—. He can't even say it in his head. What occurred during that event was daunting enough to mute his whole being.

He's sure that what he's going through is nothing compared to what Clarke is feeling at present.

Now, this— _this_ is what he hated. Before he came here, his mother Aurora and sister Octavia were the only ones he _really_ gave a damn about. Oh, and himself, of course, since he does need to survive, but you see, he's got this I-Am-Third principle going because he had to be the Augustus for his family. At present, he had to play that card again to help the remaining ones of the 100, and if he has to act like the monster he dreads, nothing and _no one_ can stop him.

Except for one person, that is.

And said person is in the midst of a psychological crisis. It's _more_ than that, he knows, but it's the simplest way to put it. Because if he went into detail about it, he would just end up writing a fucking novel, and who has the time for that? Nobody, really, especially because their conflictual status with Grounders, Reapers, and the Ark people has not been declared peaceful enough to actually consider crafting a historical account of everything that has transpired since their arrival here.

Someday, though, O would probably push him to do it. And he would live with the fact that people who would read it in the future will think that their history was born from blood and dust. That's good because that's _exactly_ what they're made of.

Looking at the princess, though, and seeing her blue eyes blank as tears flowed from it freely, he could not fully explain the gut-wrenching fear he's feeling for her. He felt his lips curve into a frown as he walked up to her slowly and could not help perceive the way her gaze was lost. Nightfall can't hide that, but he knew what it meant.

It's not healthy. Not for her.

"Clarke," he whispered, feeling his fingers tingle from the desire to comfort her. But he knew it wasn't a good time to touch her because she might not want him to since she did not look up to him. He called her again, and this time, he saw her eyes flicker up to him.

Still blank. This is not good.

"Bellamy," she breathed, reaching for his hand, and that's when he noticed it still had blood on it.

His brows furrowed upon this sight, but he took it and helped her rise from the ground. He felt her hand tightening around his as he intertwined their fingers.

"Bellamy, about Finn, I—," the princess started saying, her voice cracking before she continued, "I—I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do." Her eyes mirrored the trees swaying above them as she breathed and then proceeded, "I did my best to intervene for him, but they would not have any of it. They wanted blood for blood. I offered mine, but again and again, they wanted his."

He said nothing and continued to listen to Clarke as she pursued saying, "I would understand if you and Raven and all the others would isolate me now."

"Clarke," he responded, resting his other hand on her shoulder. " _Don't_. I won't. What did I tell you about survival? Who we really are and what we have to be aren't always mutually exclusive. What did _you_ tell me about going away? I'm saying the same thing to you now because you were right then and wrong now. _I need you._ "

The princess stared at him before looking down and whispering, "Thank you." But she still doesn't sound comforted, so Bellamy beckoned her to gaze up with a soft pat on her shoulder. Clarke raised her head and regarded him questioningly. This time, though, he saw tears prickling her vision, so he gently put it away with a finger.

He took his hand back and put it down. Bellamy ignored the sensation of his stomach tightening as he remembered what her cheek felt like and continued, "Raven probably won't want to talk with you for a while, but it's because she needs time to grieve for him. Your friendship with her isn't _that_ fragile for it to break so easily. It's guaranteed that she will curse this day, but it won't mostly be because of you. She knows what he did is wrong, but Spacewalker is still family to her. We respect that, right?"

Clarke nodded and laid her head on his shoulder, a sign that she was too worn out to even consider that she was leaning on him. Bellamy merely breathed and watched how her fair tresses parted like waves in that moment. He closed his eyes and let his fingers tangle in her hair. The wind breezed, and he felt the trees swaying and parting as the moon and stars bathed them with their light.

For one moment, the leaves waltzed and wreathed them, as Mother Nature tried to protect them from the inevitable destruction they will undoubtedly face in the next few hours at dawn. For ninety seconds, it felt like they were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden before they decided to bring perdition to the whole of humanity through the deception of someone who pretended to be their friend.

But he ignored that and just cherished the feeling of having Clarke in his arms before she realizes that they have much to do and turn away from him again. He sighed in relaxation as he felt her exhale in relief. Bellamy could sleep in this form. Too soon, though, he felt her eyelashes move, so he dropped his hand to her waist instead and withdrew from her.

He must've miscalculated his movement though because the sensation of her lips grazing his accidentally jolted him awake.

 _Wait. What_? He thought to himself as he felt a blush spreading across his cheeks. He could say the same for her, who was gaping at him in shock.

The princess swallowed and tried to explain, "Um, sorry, it wasn't my intention. I was meaning to kiss you on the cheek to say thank you."

Apparently, that was what was supposed to happen, but because of what he did, their lips collided.

Not that he's complaining.

Bellamy looked at her dumbly for a few seconds before he allowed himself to return to reality.

"Uh, yeah, sure, that's okay," he said lamely, awkwardly extracting himself from her and putting some distance between them.

"Let's go home, then," Clarke said, moving ahead.

Bellamy nodded, even though he knew she won't see his reaction. He followed behind her and saw her hands still bloodied, so he moved beside her and grasped her hand. When she looked up at him questioningly, he stared at her hand.

She pursed her lips and nodded as he led them to his tent.

When they've arrived at his place, Bellamy made her sit on his bed as he proceeded to get a basin with water and some wash cloth. For some reason, he could feel her eyes following his movement across the tent. It's not that he's getting conscious or something, but he kind of likes it when she does that.

It makes him feel better knowing that he's not the only one doing the staring. Well, it's not like they don't do it a lot.

When he has acquired what he needed, he went over to Clarke and set the basin on her lap. He put the cloth beside her and took her hands before she could do it herself. She raised a brow and said, "Bellamy, it's all right. I can do it myself."

"Clarke," he replied, eyeing her before continuing, "You also need some rest. Let me do this for you."

The princess merely sighed her submission. Bellamy set to work by starting with her left hand. He submerged it in the water and did his best to remove any sign of blood from her palm, nails, and fingers. He silently watched the clear water turn into a river of red as he did so. He followed the same procedure for her right and when he was done cleansing it, he dried it with the wash cloth.

After that, he let her hand go and put the materials down. He nodded up to her and smiled a little. Then he stood up as she said, "Thank you."

"Yeah," he replied, tilting his head towards outside. "Come on, then. Let's take you to the Chancellor. We can't let her think we're planning a coup."

Clarke gazed at him wearily, but nodded. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He nodded, putting his hands on his waist, and said, a bit fatigued, "Tomorrow, pr—Clarke."

She thinned her lips and left his tent, making sure blankness took over her mien.

Bellamy could only hope she would choose to sleep here if she wanted to, but decided that it's really not the time for that.

Since when did his heart choose the right time for anything, really?

* * *

 **[A/N]:** I realise this is similiar with _When You're Mad_ , which is my only other _100_ piece, but I've just gone back to writing, and I'd understand if this is not as well-liked as that one. I just needed a release, and I've found that making this one, albeit the familiar plot, more melancholic made me feel better. But yeah. I hope it can be enjoyed, in spite of it all.


End file.
